Tea and clean cotton and that subtle warm sweetness that always makes my chest loosen.
His arm is heavy around my waist, hand resting low on my stomach. His chest presses to my back, breath slow and deep, the steady rhythm grounding me.
Then my body shifts and tenderness flares between my legs, a tug of soreness in my hips, the ghost of his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear last night telling meI’m here, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.
Right.
Reality.
Marie. Her scent. Her bags in the spare room. Drake's guilt. Ragon's rules. The way everything in my life tilted in one sharp, ugly moment.
My eyes sting before I even open them.
Eli stirs behind me, his arm tightening for a second like his instincts sense my mood before his brain catchesup. His nose nudges the back of my neck; I feel the brush of his lips in my hair.
"Hey," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. "You awake?"
"Unfortunately."
He huffs a quiet laugh that warms something inside me despite everything. "How's your body?"
"Rude question." I shift and wince. "I've been better."
His hand slides up, fingers splaying over my stomach, touch careful now. "Too rough?"
The way he asks it—soft, worried, like he's ready to apologize all over again—makes the ache worth it.
"No. You were what I needed."
There's a pause. His breath catches just a little.
"What you needed," he repeats quietly. "I can live with that."
I roll onto my back so I can see him. His blond curls are flattened on one side, his eyes puffy without his glasses, expression soft and unguarded. Just Eli, the man who sat in a hard chair in the registry lobby for three hours just so I wouldn't go in alone.
"Thank you. For staying. For all of it."
His gaze scans my face like he's searching for cracks. "You're not regretting it?"
"No." I bite my lip. "I liked feeling like I still matter."
His expression twists—pain and fondness and something darker all tangled. "You matter. Every day, in ways that have nothing to do with who else is in this house."
"But it's getting more complicated."
He exhales slowly. "Yeah.It is."
We're quiet for a second. The house creaks around us—the faint murmur of voices down the hall, the clink of something in the kitchen, water running. Marie's scent drifts faintly under the door—sweet jasmine and cream over the deeper, familiar base of my alphas.
I grimace. "She's up."
"Mm." He brushes a thumb along my cheekbone. "We should be too."
I swing my legs over the edge of the nest and immediately feel the pull in my muscles again. He sees the flinch even when I try to hide it.
"Slow. You're not being graded on how quickly you pretend you're fine."
"I'm absolutely being graded. Just not by you."
